Imprint
by Sakon76
Summary: G1. Long ago, Starscream would have done anything to get Skyfire back.  Unfortunately, the things he chose to do came back to bite him. And in the present day, a pair of Autobots have their own issues to solve... Contains non-con in pt. 2.
1. Hera's Curse

"Skyfire." The scientist looked up from the datapad detailing the specifications of Wheeljack's planned newest creation. There was something wrong in the inventor's formulas, but just what, Skyfire hadn't figured out yet.

"Yes... Prowl," he said, minorly pleased to be able to correctly connect the name with the as-yet unfamiliar face of Optimus Prime's second. Ratchet had opined that the length of time he'd spent in the polar ice had damaged some of Skyfire's cerebral circuits, but assured him it was something his own nanites would be able to self-repair, given time.

"May I come in?" the tactician asked. "There are some things I would like to ask you about your recent interactions with Starscream."

"Certainly," Skyfire said, setting the datapad to the side. Prowl crossed the invisible threshhold of Skyfire's doorway, a door left open in subtle invitation to his new companions and crewmates. Skyfire knew only a few of them so far, and that was an uneasy feeling.

"Thank you." Prowl looked around Skyfire's quarters. They were a converted hangar; the Autobots stranded here on Earth had had no fliers among them, and certainly no one else of Skyfire's size. "You haven't many personal effects."

"I haven't had time to familiarize myself with the different Earth cultures yet," Skyfire replied. They were what most Autobots decorated their quarters with, memoirs of home being few and far between and mostly destroyed in the crash that had buried the Ark in Mount Saint Hilary. "You were interested in what I could tell you of Starscream?"

Prowl's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. His soft voice was quiet as he glanced quite deliberately back at the open door. "This... may be a conversation of a somewhat personal nature," he cautioned.

Understanding with a sinking feeling what Prowl wanted to talk about, Skyfire nodded, and remotely cycled the door closed. He _really_ didn't want to have this conversation with a superior officer... but he couldn't well refuse either, and he doubted the temperate tactician was asking out of any sense of prurient interest.

**Hera's Curse**  
>by K. Stonham<br>first released 7th December 2007

"You and Starscream were... close," Prowl began carefully, not wanting to alienate the newest member of their crew. "Back on Cybertron."

Skyfire nodded, folding massive hands into one another. "We met during the course of our studies. I thought he was brilliant. A bit wild in his proposals at times, but what's a good scientist without some flare and determination?"

Prowl nodded. "Starscream has always been brilliant." He tilted his head slightly to one side, examining Skyfire's posture. The jet was cautious, but not defensive. "You were lovers?" he inquired.

"I... yes," Skyfire confessed with a sigh, looking down at his hands. "Until I crashed in that storm."

"But not bonded," Prowl asked, needing to confirm it.

"No." Skyfire shook his head.

"And after the Decepticons pulled you out of the ice?"

Skyfire looked up sharply at Prowl, eyes wide and blazing with an indeterminate emotion. Prowl met that gaze evenly, refusing to back down, and after a few seconds Skyfire's gaze dropped to his hands again. "I wanted to be," he said very, very quietly, and there was a raw note of hurt in his voice. "Starscream said... said I wasn't enough for him anymore." A gust of bitter laughter, self-deprecating. "That he had bigger plans now... bigger needs."

Prowl stepped closer. Giving comfort wasn't his forte, but even he could see that Starscream's rejection had deeply hurt someone who had loved the mech Starscream had once been. "What were his exact words?" he inquired softly.

Skyfire looked up again. "Why?"

"It may be important," Prowl told him. "Please try to remember."

Skyfire breathed out a low breath, his optics seeming to look past Prowl into nothing. "'It's over, Skyfire'," he said quotatively. "'Deactivated and done with a long time ago. You're... not mech enough to make me overload now. My sights have been set higher'."

"'Have been set'," Prowl mused aloud. This was confirming his theory.

"Is... is something wrong with Starscream?" Skyfire asked hesitantly, a rejected lover without all their long vorns of warfare to season the ache.

Prowl sighed, wings relaxing just a little. "If my theory is correct... quite possibly. And, unfortunately, incurably." He leaned back against the wall and looked speculatively up at Skyfire. "You would never have heard of 'Imprint'; it was developed after you left Cybertron. But had you ever heard of 'Open Your Optics'?"

"The pleasure program?" Skyfire asked. Prowl nodded. "Only by name and function; I never experimented with it." He tilted his head to one side, expression curious. "How is this related to Starscream?"

"In the early days of the war, the Decepticons tried many recruitment programs," Prowl informed Skyfire. "One of their scientists took a copy of Open Your Optics and manipulated the program's code. The original was used by mechs and femmes involved in sensory deprivation play, or bondage or control games. At the end of the deprivation or control, most commonly by the removal of a blindfold, the program caused the individual affected to achieve overload. Thus the name." Skyfire nodded. "The mutated version of the program, however," Prowl continued, "causes an individual to only be able to achieve overload with the first person they see after becoming infected. Which is why it's called Imprint."

Horror was scribed large upon Skyfire's face. "And you think Starscream is infected with it?"

Prowl shrugged minutely. "It's a theory which fits all available data."

"There's... there's no way of reversing the effects?" Skyfire asked.

"Ratchet has never been able to create one," Prowl answered. "Though it's been a long time since he's taken a look at the problem. A fresh set of optics looking over his data couldn't hurt, of course," he added solicitously.

"The Decepticons... shouldn't they be infecting people right and left with this?" Skyfire demanded. "They'd win the war outright with a weapon like that!"

Prowl allowed himself a slight smile. "They might have, if things had gone differently," he allowed. "When the virus was first engineered, they tested it on a captured Autobot sympathizer, intending to imprint him on Megatron. He was rescued before that happened, and Ratchet was able to reverse-engineer a vaccine, which became a standard part of the Autobot inoculations." He paused as a thought occurred to him, and raised an inquisitive optical ridge. "Ratchet _did_ give you the full spectrum of vaccines, didn't he?" he asked.

"Yes. What happened to the Autobot sympathizer?" Skyfire asked.

"He joined the army," Prowl replied. "His identity, as one infected, remains safely anonymous."

Skyfire gave a shuddering sigh. "And you think Starscream is infected."

"Logic would indicate that Megatron used Imprint on Starscream," Prowl agreed, nodding. "He's brilliant but unstable, and has long exhibited a love-hate relationship with his master that Megatron, logically, shouldn't let him get away with."

"Starscream..." the scientist sighed sadly. "So that's why he's a Decepticon."

Prowl blinked. "Skyfire..." he said slowly, not wanting to hurt his fellow Autobot further, but unable to avoid it.

Skyfire caught something in his tone and looked up at Prowl. "What is it, Prowl?" he asked.

Reluctance tugging at his CPU, but having no choice but to tell Skyfire the truth, Prowl spoke. "Starscream was with the Decepticons long before Imprint existed," he told the jet sadly. "Starscream was the one who created it."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> A possible explanation for the always-intriguing Megatron/Starscream and Starscream/Skyfire dynamics. The title of "Hera's Curse" refers to Greek mythology. If you go far enough along in a liberal arts education, about the time you start getting terms like "cultural imperialism" and "cultural expansionism," you learn that it used to be quite common (and still is in some ways) for religions to expand into new geographical areas by going "Ooh, hey, your gods? Our gods! Your holidays? Our holidays! Let's party!" Which partially explains Apollo and Zeus chasing after every bit of royal or divine skirt on three continents as local deities were absorbed into the extant ones, or married or dallied with them. What it doesn't explain, however, is Hera, the _goddess of marriage_ either sitting at home playing "Stand By Your Man" or chasing after Zeus' new paramour with divine wrath in her lovely eyes. What _does_ explain this is a variant of the myth which states that Zeus put a curse on his sister-wife such that she could only *_cough_* "achieve fulfillment" *_cough_* with him. This really says something even worse about the ancient Greek idea of marriage, but makes for a really interesting character development of a goddess who is generally perceived as a one-note shrew.


	2. Imprint

The hum of the mainframe and cooling vents was a low constant in the background of the darkened lab as Prowl lay upon the examination table. He didn't bother testing his restraints; he'd already done so upon coming online, and come to the conclusion that he was unable to either escape from them or damage them to the point where he would be able to escape. He hadn't been built with inherent weaponry in mind, and Starscream had made sure that there was nothing Prowl could reach to aid him in his dilemma.

He wondered where the Decepticon scientist had gone. His side burned, raw circuitry exposed beneath his paneling where Starscream had cut it open to insert lines of code into his programming. The scientist had gloated, seeming to enjoy telling Prowl just what the program would do, before offlining him so it would have time to do its work uninterrupted. Prowl resisted the urge to shudder. The featureless walls of the laboratory gave no indication of how much time had passed, but if his internal chrono was functioning correctly, and Starscream's estimates of the time it would take were right... he was well and truly infected now.

Logic dictated that the scientist had gone off to fetch his master. Prowl wondered mirthlessly if he was to be a gift or a bribe. Either way, he'd rip out his own laser core before serving the Decepticon cause, particularly after witnessing first-hand their methods like this.

Assuming, of course, that the virus would let him.

The door hushed open and Prowl quickly powered down his optics, refusing to make it easy for the Decepticon scientist and his leader. Even one more minute of freedom from bondage was worth it...

"Hey now, what's this here?" a soft, musical voice asked curiously, a voice that most definitely did _not_ belong to Starscream or Megatron. A hand touched Prowl's shoulder gently. "You awake, man? Swear you ain't a 'Con, and I'll get you outta here."

Startled by the unexpected offer, Prowl's optics flew online.

**Imprint**  
>by K. Stonham<br>first released 8th December 2007

His rescuer's name was Jazz, Prowl found as the black and white Autobot pulled a highly illegal Bonds key out of a hidden compartment in his wrist and used it to free Prowl. He grinned, seeing Prowl's optics follow the key, before hiding it away again. "Police?" he asked as Prowl sat up, rubbing gingerly at his wrists, feeling the energon flow kick in again now that they were no longer restricted.

"Lieutenant, and lecturer at the Academy," Prowl confirmed. "You?"

"Now that's a secret." Jazz looked around the lab. "Took a wrong turn to be ending up here, but long as I'm here..." He turned back to Prowl and quirked a wicked smile. "You interested in dishing out a little payback?" he asked.

Prowl couldn't help his own smile. "You are a mech after my own laser core," he replied, then froze. The program... he'd forgotten about it for a minute. If Starscream was right... he looked up at his new companion, optics widening slightly in horror and realization.

If Starscream was right, he'd already imprinted on Jazz. Anything Prowl felt from here on out for the Autobot was suspect to be originated from the virus.

"You all right?" Jazz asked, voice and expression concerned.

Prowl took a breath, forced his worries and concerns aside. "Starscream infected me with something. It's probably best if we don't touch until one of your medics can examine me and determine how virulent it is."

Jazz nodded solemnly. "Gotcha, Prowl." He canted his gaze around the room again. "Still, doesn't mean we can't do some damage on our way out. Gotta make a grand exit, you know?"

Prowl smiled just a little. "What did you have in mind?" he asked.

* * *

><p>Megatron gazed unimpressedly at the wreckage of his pet scientist's lab, even as said scientist alternated between wailing in horror as he sifted through the debris, and cursing the Autobot sympathizer who had done this as part of his escape. "Starscream," Megatron finally said, cutting through the jet's vocalizations.<p>

"Yes, Megatron?" Starscream asked, on his knees and looking up. Megatron savored the view.

"Do you at least have an intact copy of the virus?" he asked reasonably.

"Yes, Megatron, I carried a copy on me," Starscream replied eagerly, opening a compartment on his chest and pulling out a round silver disc, which he handed over.

Megatron regarded it thoughtfully. "It still needs to be tested, before we can implement it as part of our recruiting techniques," he noted.

"Yes, Megatron," Starscream agreed, rising. "I'll instruct Thundercracker and Skywarp to find another test subject-"

"No need," Megatron interrupted.

"No need?" Starscream repeated blankly. "But Megatron-"

"It occurs to me," Megatron overrode him smoothly, "that using an Autobot sympathizer for a test subject may not have been the optimal course of action after all. If the program is faulty, what greater moment of vulnerability to an attack than when one is rewarding a 'pet'?" he asked rhetorically. "No," he mused, "I think we need a more willing volunteer. One who has already proven his worth to the Decepticon cause."

"Do you have someone in mind, Megatron?" Starscream asked hesitantly.

He met the scientist's optics and smiled. "Why, yes," Megatron agreed. "I do."

Starscream's optics widened.

* * *

><p>"Well, you are thoroughly infected," the Autobot medic, Ratchet, said, leaning forward against the console that was displaying the programming code of the virus. He looked back at Prowl where he sat on the examination table. "The good news is that the virus isn't actively contagious. It won't spread from you by any means of contact."<p>

Prowl nodded. That, at least, was good news. "So I am actively imprinted, then."

A shade of something-sorrow? regret?-washed over the medic's face. "Unfortunately, yes." He hesitated. "Jazz is a very kind individual-"

"I don't want him to know," Prowl interrupted. Ratchet blinked, startled. "Please," Prowl added as a courtesy.

"But if-" Ratchet started.

"Life can be lived without overloading," Prowl told him, which was more or less the truth anyway. He couldn't remember the last time he'd interfaced. "And the last thing I need or want is pity. Jazz's, or anyone else's."

"If you're sure about that, Prowl," Ratchet said solemnly.

"I am." Prowl looked up at the medic, meeting his optics, and allowed himself a small smile. "Now, where do I sign up?" he asked. "Since my days of fence-sitting seem to be over."

* * *

><p>Starscream woke up in the darkness and winced. His dermal plating ached and throbbed painfully where it had been wrenched open to...<p>

Oh.

His optics flew wide as he remembered the malicious grin on Megatron's face as his faction's leader infected him with the virus Starscream had created. The one that would-

"Starscream: awake, Megatron," a disturbingly monotone voice intoned. Starscream didn't turn his head to look and see who it was, mind already racing to find a way out of this situation. Whoever he saw next would be the only one he would ever be able to achieve release with. The coding was permanent, erasing all freedom of choice in the matter. If he could blast free, escape from Cybertron, return to that desolate winter planet where-

Megatron's face came into his field of vision, and Starscream froze. He would swear that he could feel the coding take effect, rewriting his circuits and neural pathways to the tyrant's pleasure. "Well, Starscream," Megatron said cheerfully, "let's see what kind of effect that virus of yours has had. Soundwave," he instructed his lackey, "restrain him. Reflector, test his limits."

* * *

><p>"Welcome on board," Optimus Prime said warmly, shaking Prowl's hand. "We're glad to have a member of your intellect joining us. I only wish the circumstances had been better."<p>

"If circumstances were better," Prowl replied, "we wouldn't be in this war."

That wrung a laugh from Optimus and most of the others in the room. "You've already met Jazz and Ratchet, of course," he said, and Prowl nodded. "Bluestreak," he addressed one of the others in the room, a gray and silver mech who looked like he came from the same region of Cybertron that Prowl originally had, "would you be able to give Prowl the 'grand tour' and introduce him around? Be sure to stop by the armory and have him outfitted with anything he needs," he instructed.

"Sure thing, Optimus!" Bluestreak replied happily.

Optimus nodded and turned back to Prowl. "I'd show you around myself," he said apologetically, "but I'm due for a conference call with Elita-One and Ultra Magnus in a few breems."

"Of course," Prowl said with an understanding nod. "I'll see you around, sir."

"I'm sure you will," Optimus Prime replied, and turned to go to his meeting as Bluestreak bounced up to Prowl.

* * *

><p>Starscream's vocal capacitor had long since given way and his chassis was starting to threaten to melt underneath the sheer heat he was generating as his engine revved high. But no matter how sweet or sharp the touches of Reflector's six hands, nothing, <em>nothing<em> was able to push him over the edge. He just lay there, sobbing, energon tears running from the corners of his optics as the triplicate transformer continued his assault.

"Well, Soundwave, your opinion?" Megatron asked from where he leaned against the wall.

"Virus: successful," Soundwave opined. "Starscream: helpless. Unable to achieve overload without assistance of imprinted individual."

"I quite agree." Megatron grinned lazily, then raised his voice. "Reflector! Your assistance is no longer required. Return to your duties."

"As you wish, Megatron." The three-in-one stood, bowed, and retreated. Starscream lay on the floor in overclocked agony, starting to wish for a blast from Megatron's fusion cannon. That, at least, would end his writhing misery and _need_.

Megatron strode closer and knelt beside Starscream's head. "Congratulations, Starscream," he placated. "It seems your virus worked. Aren't you proud?" Starscream couldn't even move his head to agree or not. "I think you deserve a reward for your hard work, don't you?" He scraped the barrel of his cannon lightly along Starscream's chassis. Starscream shuddered. "Yes, a reward is in order," the Decepticon leader mused, and plunged a lightning-fast hand into Starscream's exposed wiring.

Mutely, Starscream shrieked at the touch, his laser core calling one name while his body reacted to another. The pain and pleasure crashed through him, offlining him into merciful, anonymous blackness. /_Skyfire!_/ was his last whimpered thought.

* * *

><p>"Ratchet!" Bluestreak crashed through the medbay's doors, another mech carried in his arms. "Help! I don't know what's wrong- I didn't mean to-"<p>

Ratchet's optics widened at the sight of Prowl offline in the gunner's arms. "Put him on the table," he said, striding over. Was there something he'd missed with the virus, he wondered, then recoiled at the heat coming off Prowl's frame. "Primus, he's having a meltdown," he muttered to himself, and swiftly hooked Prowl into several coolant lines. "Bluestreak," he said while he worked, "tell me what happened."

"After I finished showing him around I was off shift so we went to the cantina to get some energon," Bluestreak babbled as Ratchet released body armor catches and opened Prowl up as much as he could to help disperse the dangerous heat. "Only the twins had some of their new batch of high-grade and Sideswipe said for us to test it for him and it was pretty good but it has a really sharp edge and then Prowl and I ended up in my quarters talking about home and one thing led to another and-"

Ratchet looked up sharply. "Are you telling me the two of you interfaced?" he demanded.

"I didn't mean to, it just happened, but I couldn't get him to overload and I really wanted to because he made me overload so I thought it was only fair, but then he got overheated and fell offline and I panicked and didn't know what to do-"

Ratchet resisted the urge to slap a palm against his forehead. Or just find the nearest flat surface and start hitting his head against it. It would feel so _good_ when he stopped...

"Primus," he muttered. "I'm stationed with a bunch of self-destructive idiots." There were days (most days, in fact) when he was fairly sure Primus hated him. He looked back up at the babbling gunner. "It's nothing you did, Bluestreak," he told the young Autobot. "If Prowl had listened to me, this wouldn't have happened. Just... go back to your quarters," he implored for the sake of his own sanity and Prowl's dignity. "He'll be fine."

"If you're sure," Bluestreak hedged. He hesitated. "I'm really, really sorry about this, Ratchet."

"You're not the only one," Ratchet grumbled. He sighed. "Go get some recharge, kid. Don't worry about Prowl. He'll be back up and running, and wiser for the experience, in the morning."

"Okay," Bluestreak said, and left, though not without a worried glance backwards at the unconscious mech on Ratchet's examination table.

Ratchet sighed and looked down at Prowl. "Honestly," he groused. "I'd thought you were going to be sensible, reasonable, and unlikely to damage yourself and end up in my medbay." He paused and considered his own words, then smiled slightly. "Well, if nothing else," he added, "this proves you'll fit right in with everyone else around here."

* * *

><p>Starscream woke alone, and on his back. Slowly he pushed himself to his elbows, then sat up. A dark blue hand appeared in his field of vision as he was about to consider standing, and he looked up to meet Soundwave's visored gaze.<p>

"What do you want?" he demanded irritably through his damaged vocalizer. A part of him heard its shrill, scratchy sound and winced.

"Assistance offered," Soundwave replied quietly. "Megatron: not to be trifled with."

Starscream smacked the communications officer's hand aside and stood, albeit a bit shakily. "I had garnered that for myself, thank you," he retorted. "Why are you here?"

"Concerned," Soundwave replied as Starscream looked around the ruins of his lab. "Virus: contagious? Stable?"

"It's not a degenerative disease," Starscream snapped. "And it's non-transmissible save by direct injection of the code." He paused, then turned and looked at Soundwave. "Don't tell me you _want_ to be infected?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Negative," Soundwave answered. "Only information desired."

Starscream scoffed. "Ask Megatron," he replied derisively. "He has the only copy of the virus."

"Negative," Soundwave replied again, producing a silver disc. "Only copy in my possession."

Starscream took the proffered disc and contemplated it. His coding had been beautiful, perfect, a challenge to alter a crude sex program and create something new, something serious, something deadly that would change the war and Cybertron as they knew it. It had been a chance to prove himself in the Decepticon ranks, to earn that expedition back to the winterbound planet where he'd lost his partner. The expedition Megatron had promised him.

Megatron had lied, and it no longer mattered if he got Skyfire back. Because even if he did, Skyfire's touch could never affect him again. They could never be what they had been. Something that had been pure and unsullied now was lost... by Megatron's hand. Mouth curved down in a frown, Starscream tossed the disc in the air and fired at it with both arm blasters. It shattered into a million glittering pieces that fell in a rain down upon the floor of his lab.

He looked back up at Soundwave. "Why give me the disc back?" he demanded.

"Virus: unnecessary," Soundwave answered. "Decepticon victory: foreordained. Method: distasteful."

Starscream smirked. "You know, Soundwave," he said consideringly, "this could be the beginning of a beautiful alliance..."

Soundwave shook his head. "Unlikely," he replied, and walked out of Starscream's lab.

* * *

><p>Prowl onlined to find a pair of blue optics looking into his, and his primary energon pump skipped a beat. "Hey," Jazz said. "You feeling okay?"<p>

Prowl nodded and, unlike the last time he'd been lying on a table with Jazz looking down at him, sat up, unrestrained. Memories of a perhaps overcharged encounter with Bluestreak flashed through his processor, and he frowned, knowing he needed to apologize to the gunner. He didn't like to think of it as _using_ him, but... he'd been so desperate to prove to himself that the virus hadn't worked that he hadn't been completely fair to the marksman either.

"Ratchet's recharging," Jazz told him quietly, with a nod toward a door in the corner of the room. "He told me to tell you that you're a glitching moron, that you should know better, and that he expects you to respect that from now on." The saboteur flashed a grin at Prowl. "Not that I know what he was going on about," he confessed. "Unless you want to fill me in?"

"Not really," Prowl declined. He looked at Jazz's attractive visage, and made the decision to shut it all away, everything he felt. He _probably_ would have liked Jazz without the program's compulsion, he thought... but he couldn't be sure. He didn't even really know who Jazz was yet.

"Word comes through the network that Megatron was pissed about us wrecking Starscream's lab," Jazz drawled.

"I imagine Starscream was none too pleased either," Prowl replied dryly.

Jazz snickered. "Nope, don't imagine he was," he agreed. "Brilliant piece of work you did back there, man."

"Half the work was yours," Prowl pointed out.

"Wiping his data discs?" Jazz argued. "Your idea." Prowl shrugged, and Jazz grinned, extending a hand. "Prowl, my man," he said, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Prowl looked at Jazz's hand, reminded himself that the virus couldn't be spread by contact, and that Jazz didn't know about it anyway. He smiled slightly, and gripped the saboteur's hand, accepting the implied friendship. To his relief, Jazz's simple touch didn't have any effect on him. "To friendship," he agreed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> This story was inspired by vericus ciaris aka Crimson Starlight's "Prowl and Sideswipe's Excellent Adventure" series, particularly the third chapter which made me wonder why exactly Prowl was getting so worked up about the state of his relations with Jazz. The plotbunny hopped off from there down its own particular crack-filled path.


	3. Arguments and Apologies

/1837, Earth PST. The Ark Recreation Room./

Normally Jazz wasn't privy to medical talk. Oh, he was grateful to Ratchet and the rest of the medical team for fixing him up when the 'Cons landed a lucky shot or two, and he had a field med kit in his subspace the same as most anyone else, always ready to do a quick patch job if needed, but generally he figured the workings of the Cybertronian body were a mystery best left to the experts. Of which he was decidedly not one. Nonetheless he tried his best to keep up as Skyfire talked about coding strings and algorithms and entropic distortions of signal decay.

"So what you're saying," he finally concluded, "is that there's a chance that time has weakened 'Imprint' in Starscream's systems, and that it might be possible to either break it entirely, or reinfect him to be imprinted on someone else?"

"Yes." Skyfire nodded.

"Awfully thin chance, man," Jazz opined, leaning back.

"Even a thin chance might still be enough," the gentle giant scientist argued. "If we could pry Starscream away from the Decepticons..."

"Got to admit I can't picture that happening," Jazz said, then held up a hand to forestall Skyfire's protest. "Just 'cause I can't see it doesn't mean it can't happen. So, what do you need me for?"

Skyfire drummed the fingers of his right hand once on the table. "Ratchet has given me a copy of Imprint to study, but it's one taken from a recently-infected subject seven million years ago. I need a comparative sample of the program from the same infected individual now, to trace any degeneration of the code."

"And you can't just ask Ratchet for this why...?"

"I did." Skyfire sounded chagrined. "He said the individual in question remains anonymous, and as such he can't simply call him in to take a new sample."

Which implied that the virus' victim was stationed aboard the Ark. "The Hatchet does value his patient confidentiality," Jazz mused. "And you're asking me to break this for you, man? Must be really important."

Skyfire looked down at the table and was silent for a minute. "Starscream..." he said eventually, slowly, "...he's important to me. I want him back."

Jazz could respect that, and said so. "All right, you got a deal. I get the info on the carrier for you, a current copy of the virus if possible, and you cover my back if we get caught. Deal?"

Skyfire nodded firmly. "Deal."

**Arguments and Apologies**  
>by K. Stonham<br>first released 9th December 2007

/1945 Earth PST. The Ark Medical Bay./

Timing was everything, Jazz thought, sneaking into the medbay. Ratchet was currently in the rec room with Wheeljack, both having their evening energon, and the cameras had neatly been looped thanks to a little device Jazz had cobbled together long ago in the early days of being a saboteur. And Ratchet's password changed between three different ones on a weekly cycle. Right now it should be...

"'Fraggit, why can't Wheeljack keep himself in one piece?'" Jazz murmured the password to himself as he typed it in. He smirked as the screen flickered to life, and slipped a blank disc into the feed slot, directing the computer to download a copy of everything it had on Imprint onto the storage medium. That took less than a minute, and he slipped the disc into his subspace, adeptly clearing all traces of his presence and activities from the computer logs, then left the room, discreetly collecting his toy from where he'd left it.

Once back in his own quarters, he sat on his recharge bed, leaned comfortably back against the wall, and remotely started some Vivaldi playing. Great background music, excellent for thinking and concentrating. Jazz retrieved the disc from his subspace, slotted it into an anonymous-looking but secure datapad, and started skimming through Ratchet's files and schematics, looking for the identity of an Autobot.

He was not expecting the name he eventually found.

Optics wide, Jazz reread Ratchet's terse, clinical entry on the carrier of Imprint, parsing through the medical jargon to piece together what had happened. The image of a Decepticon lab, lights dimmed to half, with a captured civilian laying on the table, flashed through his processor and he slowly lowered the datapad as he connected things.

_"Starscream infected me with something. It's probably best if we don't touch until one of your medics can examine me and determine how virulent it is."_

Wide blue optics, an expression shaded with just a touch of horror as they looked at Jazz... He felt his primary energon pump constrict as he realized for the first time just what that look had _meant_.

_Prowl... on me?_ Jazz wondered distantly. _Primus..._

And no one had told him. For seven million years. He'd assumed that whatever Starscream had infected Prowl with hadn't been that serious, and that Ratchet had managed to fix it. Neither of them had ever said anything, or acted strangely toward Jazz. He'd assumed it had been some other captured Autobot-and Primus knew there'd been plenty over the vorns-who had brought back news of the virus. Ratchet wouldn't have told Jazz anything as a matter of patient confidentiality, which the doc held sacred. Which meant that it had been Prowl's decision not to tell Jazz. He decided he couldn't blame Prowl for that initial decision; they'd just barely met and for all that he'd liked the tactician's style and particular vindictiveness from day one, they hadn't really known each another at that point.

But not telling him for _seven million years_... okay, Jazz could grant that for four million of them they'd both been in stasis, but they'd gotten overenergized together enough during the other three million. He thought he'd made it clear any number of times that he liked the second in command and would be willing to cross a number of relationship lines with him in any way Prowl liked... or not, if Prowl chose. The confessions or offers had been ignored every single time, which had amused Jazz as he'd always put it down to Prowl's infamous disconnect from life.

But Prowl hadn't trusted him with this. It wasn't even the fact that Prowl hadn't wanted to interface with Jazz, just the simple fact that he hadn't even told him about Imprint. It hurt that Prowl had _kept_ keeping this from him, not trusted him with it.

_I thought we were friends,_ Jazz thought snippily, feeling the momentary deep hurt already transforming into anger. _And friends tell each other things._

_Especially best friends._

* * *

><p>Some days later, 0423, Earth PST. The Ark Command Center./

"You're going to have to talk to me eventually."

Prowl's words rose and fell briefly, breaking the quiet of the ventilation units and Teletraan-One's quiet humming. The absolute silence he earned in reply from his shift partner showed him what Jazz thought of his words. Prowl frowned in regret, doorwings drooping just a little. Things had been like this for days, an unexpected coldness from the normally jovial third in command. All because Jazz had found out something that Prowl had felt was private, and did not need to be shared. Why the saboteur had felt that Prowl's preferences and medical history were any of his concern, Prowl couldn't fathom. Though the initial tightly worded request for a current sample of the Imprint code gave him a clue. Prowl was very consciously not looking too closely at Skyfire's current area of research.

Still, in cases involving Jazz, logic was not always the best guide.

"Would it help if I said I was sorry?" he asked quietly.

"Not unless you mean it," Jazz replied, proving he was actually listening to Prowl. But he still didn't look away from the terminal he was using.

"I don't understand why it makes a difference," Prowl protested.

At _that_, Jazz did look up. "You don't understand why it makes a difference," he repeated incredulously, and Prowl was sure that were it not for the visor, Jazz's optics would be boring through him like tritanium drill bits, "that I'm the only one who can rock your socks? Or that, in the seven million years we've known one another, _you haven't seen fit to mention this to me_?"

"No," Prowl confessed honestly. "We had-_have_," he corrected himself, "a fine working relationship. There was no sense in complicating it."

Jazz was still staring at him. "You are a piece of work, you know that, Prowl?" he said rhetorically and derisively. "You never even thought that I might have the right to know something that involves me so _intimately_?" His voice accented the last word, making sudden images of the two of them in compromising stances flood Prowl's CPU.

Prowl paused momentarily, then willed the images away out of old force of habit. "I chose," he replied evenly, "to keep my personal preferences personal, and not subject others to them. Unlike some members of this crew, I don't find interfacing to be that high on my to-do list."

Jazz bristled, as Prowl had half-expected. "Just when was the last time you think I-" he started.

"I was referring to the twins and certain others," Prowl cut him off. He met Jazz's gaze evenly. "Don't think that I'm not _intimately_ aware of your liaisons, or their lack, Jazz. The virus makes sure of that."

"The virus, huh?" Jazz asked.

Prowl nodded calmly. "I've kept my inadequacies to myself because they originate from the virus. I do not appreciate you breaking both my and Ratchet's confidence by reading that file, and I would take it as a measure of friendship if you would simply delete the thing from your memory banks."

Jazz was staring at him. "You're telling me that you think everything you feel regarding me-up to and including our friendship-stems from _Imprint_?"

"Everything I feel concerning you is suspect because I'm imprinted on you," Prowl confirmed with a nod.

Jazz's right hand was balled in a fist. "If I wasn't your friend," he told Prowl tightly, "I'd knock you flat for that. _Seven million years_ of friendship and you think it's all just because of a slagging virus?" He shook his head. "I'm not talking to you because I've never seen a greater act of stupidity from you as long as I've known you, and I've seen _plenty_ of 'em." He turned away from Prowl, and, true to his word, spoke not another syllable until Hound came in to relieve him. On the way out, though, he paused behind Prowl and murmured just into his audio receptors, "Tell me this, genius: if everything you feel about me comes from Imprint, then explain Screamer and Meg's relationship."

* * *

><p>0805, Earth PST. The Ark, Officers' Quarters Hallway./

Jazz... had a certain point, Prowl had to admit to himself by the time he got off shift three hours later. They'd all long been working on the theory that Starscream was imprinted on Megatron, and every single thing they observed about the Decepticon leader and his air commander fit that theory.

And Starscream _despised_ Megatron.

Cold ran through his circuits as Prowl considered for the first time that whatever he felt for Jazz... might be real. Might not be due to the imprinting. That he might actually like Jazz because Jazz was likable. That he might actually-

Prowl stopped in the hallway, frowning in thought.

That, completely aside from only being able to obtain physical release with Jazz, he might feel a good deal more toward the saboteur than was warranted by only friendship.

Prowl looked down the hallway to his left, where Jazz's quarters were. He hesitated, then turned to the right, and went to his own.

_Primus_, he was tired all of a sudden...

He keyed his door lock open and stepped into his room, not even bothering to turn the light on as the door cycled shut, just making his way over to his berth in the darkness, sitting down on its edge.

A warm arm snaked around his midriff from behind. Prowl stiffened, whipping around, only to relax at a familiar voice slurring "Just lie down and recharge already, Prowl."

"How," Prowl asked resignedly, "did you get past the lock?"

He could practically see Jazz's sleepy grin even in the dark. "That'd be my secret," the saboteur murmured, and tugged Prowl down onto the recharge bed. Prowl sighed, following the physical direction, and lay on his side in front of Jazz. It wasn't comfortable, and he squirmed after just a few seconds. "What's wrong, Prowl?"

"I can't recharge on my side," Prowl explained. "My wings-"

"Ah." Jazz shifted, and suddenly there was more room. Grateful, Prowl rolled onto his back. "Always wondered how you lot with wings handled that," Jazz's voice confessed above him. He must be sitting up. "Makes me glad I don't have 'em." His hand rested on Prowl's wrist, and Prowl was suddenly aware of that touch, of the length of Jazz's leg against his.

"What are you doing in here, Jazz?" Prowl asked quietly.

"Wanted to see if you were still being an ass, or if you'd thought about it."

Prowl sighed, offlining his optics. "I did, and you're probably right."

"Good. You have no idea how insulting that was."

Prowl sighed. "I'm sorry," he apologized again.

A moment's silence, then Jazz asked quietly, "So, ever since we met you've had optics only for me?"

Prowl snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, Jazz."

"Ain't my style, man." The hand on Prowl's wrist drifted lightly upward, over his bumper and onto his hood. "You've seriously gone seven million years without overloading once?"

"Jazz-" Prowl warned, optics still offline.

"Just curious."

"My aft."

"Can't blame a mech for trying." A moment's pause, then a mouth touched against Prowl's. Prowl's optics flew online again and he started. It was such a human thing to do, but then of all the Autobots Jazz was the biggest fan of human culture. "Just so you know," Jazz murmured against Prowl's mouth, "there are lots of things I don't object to being. 'Yours' would be one of them." He hopped over Prowl and off the berth before Prowl could say anything, then paused in the door frame as the door cycled open. He grinned cheekily over his shoulder at Prowl. "Think about it," he advised. He stepped out into the hallway and the door cycled shut behind him.

Slowly, Prowl sat up in the darkness, staring toward the door.

* * *

><p>Jazz hummed to himself, counting the seconds. He'd just gotten to sixty and started over again when Prowl's door cycled open and the second in command stood there, looking like a thunderstorm had gathered over his head. Jazz counted this as a good sign; anything that was able to get under the mild tactician's plating and upset Prowl's legendary calm was bound to be something interesting. And it was his turn to be upset, after all. When Prowl's hand shot forward and hooked underneath Jazz's grill, drawing him near, it was all the saboteur could do not to grin.<p>

"You," Prowl said lowly, "are impossible."

"Finally figured that out?" Jazz quipped.

"What do you want from me, Jazz?" Prowl asked, and there was a note of genuine hurt and confusion in his soft voice. "I have the virus, yes. I'm dealing with it. I don't need you playing games with me."

"No games," Jazz said quietly, honestly. A promise. Prowl's fingers slowly let go. "Tell me, Prowl-you asked me once-what do you think I did before the war?" Prowl looked blank at the change of subject. "Smokie says the running bets are on me being a smuggler or a thief. You want to know the truth?" Jazz leaned in close. "I was a teacher. That's all. Philosophy. My school got bombed out with me in it. I was damn near the only survivor-Bluestreak was one of my students, though he doesn't remember it, poor kid." Jazz tapped his visor. "That's the day I started wearing this. The day Primus shielded his gaze from the war, I shielded mine. This ain't anything for spywork or because I'm impaired or even just because it's stylish. Something happened, and it changed everything, and this is so I never forget."

"Why are you telling me this?" Confusion was scrawled large across Prowl's face.

"Because I want to know everything about you," Jazz answered, "and I want you to know everything about me."

"Jazz..."

Jazz quirked a half-smile. "And I want to have you arching beneath me, screaming my name," he said. "If I can have it."

Prowl's mouth was slightly open in astonishment. "You..."

"There's a difference between someone you can interface with, and someone you can trust. I want someone I can trust to watch my back. Someone I can share my life with. You up to it?" Jazz asked seriously. "Or do you want to go back to pretending it's all because of Imprint?"

Slowly, Prowl formed his own smile, calm and dangerous enough that it sent Jazz's primary fuel pump to skipping a beat. Prowl's fingers curled underneath Jazz's bumper again. "Tell me," he invited coolly, "why exactly you're assuming that _I_ will be the one screaming out _your_ designation."

It was with a grin and a soft laugh that Jazz let himself be drawn back into Prowl's room, toward the waiting berth within.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Okay, no pr0n, but a resolution of sorts. The whole thing toward the end about who Jazz used to be stemmed initially from a search for possible other meanings behind the visors versus optics thing in G1. I wondered if perhaps there might not be a religious significance to them, and somehow that turned into a fairly domestic origin for Jazz, which seemed interesting, and put him as a better match to the "police academy lecturer" background that came up as Prowl's background in "Imprint." Also, as a note, I am so with Jazz that Prowl's saying "all my feelings regarding you are due solely to Imprint" is extremely insulting, no matter how logical Prowl thinks that train of thought may be. Because, well, it is!


End file.
